I'm gonna take issue, from a writing standpoint, with the title of last night's Following episode, "The End is Near." Objectively, yes — the end of the season is very near, exactly one week away. One way or another there will be some kind of ending (probably Parker's, when she's revealed to be a closet Follower), and more than likely Joe will allude 1, 3, or 57 times throughout the episode to the fact that we've reached it. "Oooh, I just love endings, Ryan, don't you?" Joe will say as he torture-reads Hardy passages from his manuscript.
But that's the problem, Joe! This book you're writing is nowhere near completion. Buddy, when you're watching 2-year-old sex tapes of your protagonist/BFF and trying to solidify basic character motivation? You're still in the research phase. (And maybe even procrastinating, if we imagine Followers watch creepy sex videos the way we do YouTube.) So don't tell me we're near the end, Joe/Following writers. Like everything on this show, we're circling somewhere around the middle.
Under strict orders from my therapist to utilize the "one positive, one negative" approach to comments and opinions, I'll say that stuff did happen this week in a way that stuff has maybe not happened for various non-consecutive periods in the past. Joe's Followers finally executed some sort of plan! Maybe it only made sense in the context of a diversion. And maybe it held only the most tenuous of Poe connections ('Mask of the Red Death'), in adherence with the Following charter. But attacking the Havenport Rec Center — when Hardy had specifically told them not to — was definitely a bold counter to those critics who may have suggested they "don't do anything" or "are stupid." Kudos, guys! You're all dead now but hey, you made it into Joe's book*.
*This one I can barely joke around. If there's been any ongoing mystery The Following has tried to stoke, it's why, beyond likely insanity, any one of Joe's 30+ acolytes would devote their lives to his cult. The answer (almost tossed off, by Emma, as she tried to convince Jacob not to run away): because they're all going to get a character based on them in his book! Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Terrorists? They get 67 VIRGINS IN TERRORIST AFTERLIFE. You Follower chumps are getting a fake character name, enshrined in writing that's about on par with my Following recaps (e.g. mediocre). You make the guy who spent $10,000 for a walk-on cameo in the Veronica Marsmovie seem like a brilliant person.
While Hardy and Co. tended to the "murder and mayhem" (JOE'S WORDS, NOT MINE) at the rec center, Joe — along with his new #s 2 and 3, Emma and Jacob, and Claire — were holed up in some poor hostages' home, waiting out the police lockdown. Good news: they really made the most of it! While Joe prepared an Italian feast in the kitchen, Claire bonded with the couple unlucky enough to have been home. The man, it turns out, had worked with Joe in his professorial days. Sure, this was ultimately an unnecessary bit of information that shed no more light on any characters nor wrinkled the plot in any way. But….ummm….
Claire attacked Joe! Again! After falling for the old "just untie me so I can pour this expensive bottle of wine, I know your side hurts," trick, Joe found himself on the losing edge of, in order: 1) a wine bottle 2) a fork and 3) a well-placed kick to the side. "Your book sucks!" Claire should have finished with, but she was in a hurry to get out of there with the professor and his wife. Unlike Joe, or me, not everyone has time for silly verbal barbs.
Parker shot a chick at the rec center massacre. Was she a Follower or an innocent bystander? Neither the writing nor the lighting work would tell us! But I do know, definitively, that Parker was taken by a cadre of Followers. So taken that she was actually thrown into a makeshift coffin and, her whimpering against the first few credits, buried alive. In just 14 episodes, The Following has already kidnapped, eyeball-gouged, stabbed, bludgeoned, and throat-slit more than a few FBI agents. "But burying one of us alive crosses the line," I only wish Hardy had said, but once again the episode playing in my head is very different than the one unfolding via Slingbox. If anyone cared, I think this show could foster a really vibrant fan fiction community.
WHERE WE ARE, heading into the "end": Jacob's dead. Emma loves Joe. Joe hates Claire. Hardy loves Claire. Claire's on a boat. Parker's in a coffin. Joe's in a slump. Weston's a wildcard. Hardy's ex-girlfriend is still out there, presumably reviewing their sex tapes like game footage. Nick or whoever is getting replacement eye surgery (good luck!). Roderick hasn't even received a proper burial. There's one episode left. Flowers can grow even in graveyards. We'll all smile again one day soon.
Follow Henning on Twitter @HenningFog
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You wouldn't think that a man who invented and profited off something called "The String Dance" would ever age. But it's true: Today, Conan O'Brien turned 50 and then we all turned to each other with expressions that can only be described as "WhaaaaaA?" followed by an auditory "No. Way." But 'tis true: Coco is half a century old.
Luckily, to offset the mind-blowing truth of O'Brien's age, we've got eight other celebs who've just entered the fifth decade of their lives. Okay, so that might blow your mind a little more. But you'll live.
Basketball Legend Michael JordanThat title almost works better when you're 50.
Mad Man About Town John SlatteryAge ain't nothing but a number, and this silver fox has still got it (even after puking on the floor at Sterling Cooper).
Tom Cruise: Still Kicking Ass in Space at 50And still wooing ladies just a hair above half his age on screen too.
Straight Up, Paula Abdul's Still Got the MovesSeriously. Don't challenge this former Laker girl to a dance contest. You will lose.
Steve Carell Wore Spandex in Burt Wonderstone and Got Away With ItBut he reminds me of my dad so that's all the commentary I can provide for this 50s clubber.
Demi Moore, Is 50, Still Looks 30Life is cruel, folks.
Okay, We Know Jodie Foster's 50After all, she practically hit us over the head with during her rambling Golden Globes speech this year.
Forever-Duck Emilio EstevezHe'll always be our Mighty Ducks coach, even in 20 years when he's 70.
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I had the opportunity to chat with Greg Foster, the Entertainment Chairman of IMAX Filmed Entertainment, at CinemaCon about this week's announcement of a five-picture deal with Paramount Pictures and specifically director Christopher Nolan's Interstellar and Michael Bay's Transformers 4. And the studio itself is excited about its collaboration with the company: "IMAX is among the greatest ways to experience a movie,” Rob Moore, Vice Chairman of Paramount Pictures, said in a statement released to Hollywood.com. “That fact, together with our combined successes over the years, the growth of the IMAX brand around the world, and our continued partnership with [IMAX CEO] Rich [L. Gelfond], Greg and everyone at IMAX make this agreement a natural extension of an already hugely successful relationship. Working with today's top filmmakers, we look forward to bringing audiences the most exciting new movies with the very best presentation for years to come."
But what can we expect from Paramount's anticipated releases? First, Foster talks about Christopher Nolan and Interstellar:
Christopher Nolan is obviously a huge fan of IMAX with his use of the technology on the Batman films. This clearly demonstrates a real commitment; that the partnership goes beyond The Dark Knight films to every big film he makes. How does it feel for IMAX to have this ongoing relationship with such a well-respected and influential filmmaker?Everything he (Nolan) does is carefully thought out. We have an incredible partnership with Chris, Emma [Thomas, Nolan's wife and producing partner], and Syncopy. Chris knows our technology better than pretty much anyone, including people who work at IMAX. In fact, he’s an IMAX innovator. He just keeps upping his game and it's an honor to be a part of his plans. The bottom line is we are excited that he's going to use our cameras again and use them in a material way and we can't wait to see what he does. We know science fiction is a big part of the movie (which lends itself to our fanbase), and we will be there to support his every effort like we have in the past and like we will continue to in the future.
Regarding Transformers 4, when you think Michael Bay, you think epic, grand-scale filmmaking. This seems like the absolute perfect fit for IMAX and Michael Bay. True?Well, we've done the last three Transformers, so it's only appropriate that we do another one. Michael is a showman and a hit-making filmmaker and we love working with him. He’s talented, a great partner and this movie, like his others, lends itself to IMAX’s DNA. Again, we feel very fortunate with this arrangement because both Chris and Michael are dynamic filmmakers and creative leaders of our industry. It’s so exciting that in 2014 we’ll collaborate with both of these great directors. Hats off and thanks to Paramount and WB for making this possible.
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The great thing about the Real Jell-O Shots of Dixie Cup Trailer Park is that there has always been some dramatic irony in the series – you always know how it's going to end before it even starts. During Season 1, we knew that the evil Camille Grammer (before her canonization as St. Camille) would get her comeuppance and that Kelsey Grammer would divorce her. In Season 2, which took a turn for the dark and tragic, we knew that Taylor Armstrong's (before she put on a black Victorian dress and became the Widow Armstrong) husband Russell would kill himself shortly after filming wrapped. This year we all thought it was going to be the year that Adrienne, the Queen of the Maloofs (a race of mole people that live under the mountain) would be getting a divorce. But now it's here, and we have been cheated.
We do know that Adrienne was attacked by the mole men she once controlled, and they ripped her limb from limb, sullying their hands not only with her gore, but with dark fake tanning solution that they will never rinse off. She is dead and she will never be heard from again. Not at the reunion, not on the next season, not even in the sale materials for her shoe, The Maloof Hoof, which is currently on sale for 75% off on lesser shoe deal websites across the Internet.
Yes, we thought we were going to see her and Paullo the Ape's relationship break down and shatter into a million bickering feuds, but we did not. We just heard about secondhand reports from Radar Online and TMZ saying that she confirmed that they split. (In fact, most of Lisa's housewarming party was spent standing around discussing stories that the women had read about each other on various websites and how true they are. Kyle thinks it is sad, but this is the life they lead. This is the life they chose, and now they're all stuck with it, a million glaring pixels pointing out their every flaw, surgery, or bathroom boink at Kyle's White Party.)
Anyway, we did not get to see the carnage of the divorce and for that, well, I am a little sad. I have a feeling it's coming in next week's finale, but they can't pack all that goodness into one episode. No, they can never.
But before we can talk about Adrienne's marriage falling apart, first we have to talk about her vodka party. We must never forget that Adrienne, when she was a Queen, was crowned in Las Vegas. Everything about her is Vegas. She is basically an over-stuffed faked Louis Cat-orze love seat sitting in the lobby of the Paris hotel. She is basically a fake canal filled with faux-gondoliers and Ty-D-Bol blue water at the Venetian. She is the roller coaster on top of New York New York. She is the sparkler that accompanies a $800 bottle of Grey Goose at Ghost Bar. She is the clown car parked out in front of Circus Circus. She is a nipple tassel at the Spearmint Rhino. She is the snap of the hooker flier a small Latino man makes before he pushes it into your palm. That is Adrienne, former queen of the Maloofs. May she rest in peace.
So, it should come as no surprise that she is launching a vodka called ZING!. No, wait. She is launching a red velvet cupcake flavored vodka called ZING! that comes in a bottle with a pink strobe light at the bottom. This party was a fantastic mess. First of all there was a wall of roses spelling out ZING! that was essentially a vodka glory hole, where liquor just appeared out of nowhere. I'm sure that Adrienne's gay party planner got this idea at a rest stop. Then there were all these models spray painted red velvet maroon with the word ZING! written all over them. Oh, and let's not forget the gorgeous people painted white who fooled only Fetch into thinking they were real statues. And the bartenders, mostly naked with topiary around their manscaped bits. Then there was the giant moving bush that looked like a Transformers robot made out of shrubbery and crawled in the same manner. There was also some girl jittering and glittering in the entry way, right after guests walked through a giant strobe-light vodka bottle. Oh, this thing was tackier than wallpaper covering wood paneling.
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All of this and they were serving all sorts of red velvet cupcakes that blinked with light. Everything blinked. Everything was illuminated (isn't that a book or something?), but no one at this party has seen the business end of a red velvet cupcake since the publication of The South Beach Diet in 2003. Seriously. And does Adrienne think this was going to do better than, for instance, her awful shoe line or, the other cupcake vodka that is already on the market or Skinny Girl Margaritas? Oh, Bethenny Frankel. She has ruined Housewives forever thinking they can replicate her success. She is the exception that proves the rule, not the rule itself.
At the party, we started to see the rift in the Paullo and Adrienne marriage, especially when she was ordering him around and telling him to do things, and he got all mad. Then he got himself spray painted like the rest of the help. ("This makes my fat disappear," he says. No, Paullo, it does not. You are still fat.) Then he climbed up in a tree and pretended to be, well, an ape. Adrienne smiled her Chesire Cat smile and tried to make a face of disapproval, but her plastic mug wouldn't move. She had to tell us that she is sick of Paullo being the center of attention, always being the dancing monkey trying to be on TV. Oh, it's so hard to be these two.
The only other thing that happened at Adrienne's party is that Fetch gathered all the girls around for a meeting of the We Hate Brandi Club and read them all a text message that Brandi sent her. "Do you know how you can fix your marriage? You and Dean should give each other a hall pass!" They all stood shocked and amazed. Fetch said her marriage didn't need any saving and she never talked to Brandi or anyone about her marriage. Wait, what? The only thing we know about Fetch is that she thinks her husband loves her more than she loves him and that she wants to sleep with other guys all the time. That is why Brandi sent that text, as a joke!
I've said it before and I'll say it again: no one on this show has a sense of humor, and they fundamentally don't understand Brandi. That is why Kyle, Fetch, TMC Faye Resnick, St. Camille, and Adrienne all sit around and talk about how awful Brandi is and how she will sleep with everyone's husband and she is an awful tramp. Brandi was joking! It was a joke. It might not have been a good joke or a funny joke, but just like when she said that she slept with everyone in Beverly Hills, it was not the truth. Lighten up, and for a change, I don't mean your skin tone.
Thankfully, Yolanda "Bananas" Foster was there to defend her. She did not back down, and told Fetch that she does talk about her marriage all the time and that if she has a problem with Brandi and what she said, she should bring it up to Brandi, not at this party behind her back where all the women can snake and sting about her while sipping some sickeningly sweet flavored vodka and wishing in their heart of hearts that there was just a nice glass of red around somewhere. Yolanda shut it all down, and for that I am grateful. I hate myself for liking her.
The other party we have to talk about, of course, is Lisa Vanderpump's housewarming/vow renewal/Dancing with the Stars cast announcement party. She was so stressed out about it that she had Brandi over so they could get massages. Lisa, if you need to relax, just spin around and look at that freaking view in your back yard that looks like it's the set of Heidi (the movie about the little girl in the Alps, not the madam from L.A.) or the opening of The Hills or something.
So, Lisa had her party planner Kevin Lee over, and we all laughed at him stripping down to his boxer briefs and wading in the pool so he could float out some flower arrangements. "Oh, what you scaring about, Lisa?" he asks in his exuberant broken English. And we all laugh, laugh, liggety laughed like he is not dressed as "Black and White" era Michael Jackson and visiting his gravestone.
The party started and everyone arrived. Lisa was wearing a long, black satin dress, as was Kim Richards, Fetch, and her mom (a satchel full of question marks for why she was even there). Does no one in Beverly Hills know how to dress for a day event? Sit right the hell back down, Kyle Richards, in your grey sequins (the dress that wasn't good enough for your store opening last week). You don't either. The Morally Corrupt Faye Resnick was there, wearing a green lace dress that looked like she found it in the window of the Exotic Video 2000 store on 8th Avenue somewhere in the 30s. The Widow Armstrong showed up with a gay on each arm in a gold dress that is somehow the exact same color as her face. She went into the bathroom and changed into her mourning garb and was never heard from again.
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Yolanda "Bananas" Foster was there, looking statuesque in white. God, I really do like her. Well, at least until she opened up her mouth and referred to her husband David Foster Wallace, who has been on more reality shows than Janice Dickinson and Simon Cowell combined, as her "king." After that, I just want to punch the smug right off her mouth. Seriously, YBF? Do you really believe that this man, who is trashier than a 46-year-old drinking a goldfish bowl cocktail at the wet T-shirt contest at the Booze 'N' Cruise in St. Pete on Spring Break Weekend, is "your king"? God, I hate that.
The party was filled with all sorts of odd characters like Linda Thompson, who brought apricot jam for Lisa because she is "so middle class." Yes, just like her ex-husband Bruce Jenner Kardashian and her son Brody Jenner. They are all middle class. They are all middle class and sold their souls to Ryan Seacrest for a production deal. And then there was Jennifer, Brandi's friend, who looks like a drag queen in the best possible way. She's not even a human, she is just a pile of fake lashes, flashy jewelry, lucite heels, and self tanner that was someone animated with gay sparkle magic. Oh, and let us not forget about DeeDee, who finally sees the light of day. Yes, St. Camille's greatest acolyte is there to protect her mistress and show her ever evolving love and devotion.
But the main event, of course, was in the final moments of the show. Yolanda and Brandi pulled Fetch over to talk to her about why she is upset with the text that Brandi sent. Fetch, like an amateur (which is why she will never happen) tried to play it off like it was no big deal, that she knew it was a joke and that she didn't think there was anything wrong with it. Then Yolanda piped up: "That's not what you were saying the other night." I love Bananas because she doesn't let anyone get away with their s***. She's calm, cold, and sober, so she has a much better memories than the rest of these tequila worms.
Across the party St. Camille, Kyle, and the Morally Corrupt Faye Resnick saw the two women talking to Fetch. The exchange got a little heated, however not heated enough to result in a fight. Yolanda was keeping Fetch honest and Brandi wanted to know what her problem was and was saying that she hoped they could be friends. However, Faye said, "They're attacking [Fetch]." Kyle, who is wise to this world, said, "No, don't go over. Don't get involved. Let this happen." But Faye barged ahead, the mint green lace jaunting across the lawn and sidling up to the conversation.
Brandi, ever the diplomat, said, "You're not involved. You can go." As with so many of Brandi's pronouncements, it was the right sentiment but the wrong wording. Faye was not there to help. Faye was not there to offer a resolution, she was there to pour nitro on the glycerine and watch it explode. Brandi knew this, but could have been a bit more subtle. Faye, like a petulant child refused to leave. Things, of course, just escalated from there.
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God, I have said lots of things are the worst in my day – hang nails, Cheeto dust, Rachael Bilson, people who take too many pictures with the iPhones at concerts, when your DVR cuts off the last joke of a sitcom because it ran a moment over, cheese – but of all those things, of everything in the universe that is bad, the worst is really Faye Resnick. She is just an awful horrible human being and I would like to banish her to a black hole so that the chill of space will suffocate her for eternity and no sound will ever escape it. On that day, you won't hear screams in space, but you will hear cheers.
I think my biggest problem with Faye is that she is just leveling insults at Brandi for no reason. Brandi has never done anything to her. Brandi hardly even knows her (at least from what we can tell on the show). But Faye is just nasty to her becaues of things Brandi may or may not have done to her friends. Faye tells Brandi that, "No matter how many Chanels you borrow, you will never be a lady." Oh yeah, Faye. Since when do you know what a lady is? Since you posed for Playboy months after your best friend was murdered by her husband and then wrote a book about the whole thing to cash in on your pain? Who is the lady now? Faye makes all these judgments about Brandi, but doesn't even hold up to the smell test herself. (I bet she smells like wet dog and magazine pages.) She is cruel and condescending and absolutely horrible.
The worst part, of course, is that Faye accused Brandi to her face of something everyone has been muttering about her behind her back: that she is guilty of breaking up Adrienne and Paullo. Even Fetch, who was in the midst of an argument with Brandi and Yolanda, thought this was too much and told Faye to shut up. Of course this is not true. Sure, she might have added a bit of strain to a bad situation. But as Kim Richards said, if they were a real team, if they were a couple on healthy ground, they would have found a way to work through it. (And when Kim Richards is being the voice of reason, you know that everyone else is on magic mushrooms or something.) Paul and Adrienne did not work it out, and they had problems well before Brandi arrived on the scene. As soon as Brandi and Yolanda heard this, they turned around and walk away from Faye, who stood there looking superior.
It was at that moment, if you squinted your eyes and walked around past the giant urn pouring its water into Lisa's pool, if you looked through that water and into the sun, that you could see it: all the spirits haunting that hilltop, fluttering around like tissues caught on the limb. There was one behind Faye, buffeted about by the elements, her hair and garments flapping about her as if they were all about to take flight. It was a blond woman, someone close to Faye, who was always standing there watching over her, pushing her forward and steering her course. You could see that spirit there at the party if you looked the right way. But then you saw it get farther and farther away, floating up into the air blown by an invisible gale and then it turned it's back on Faye and disappeared into the sky, leaving behind it a little glint of light. Faye lost something by being there that day. In fact, we all did.
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
[Photo Credit: Bravo]
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Picking back up after two weeks of reruns, How I Met Your Mother doesn't really seem bent on giving us anything especially new... at least not until the wedding of Robin and Barney. A wedding that each new episode of this show makes me think is a terrible, loathesome idea. This week, HIMYM pits the engaged pair in a discussion about residency: where will the two of them live once they are married?
Robin is happy to give up her apartment — one of such little consequence that I can't even remember what it looks like — but Barney is holding fast to his Fortress of Solitude, as it were. So many memories, so many schemes and gadgets devoted to the ensurance that one night stands would not amount to anything more: voice-triggered sprinkler systems and hidden escape routes; welcome matts that double as BMI-measuring computers; a greenscreen window to trick gullible dates into believing they're in exotic locations; beds chauffeuring Barney's unfortunate victims into secret dungeons, never to be heard from again... wait, really? Is he a cartoon mad scientist? Is this show even about people anymore?
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And that's the thing that makes HIMYM so soft in landing: it tries to have it both ways. The show wants us to invest and believe in Barney and Robin's relationship, but it can't bring itself to make Barney a human being. After Robin rallies a gaggle of white toast couples to check out Barney's apartment so that the duo can start fresh, she comes to realize that all of the nasty, pervy, borderline sociopathic (her words! She's aware of this!) "quirks" the apartment embodies are what make Barney Barney. The things that no one else in the world appreciates about him, that's what she loves. Call it sweet, but there's a reason everyone else in the world thinks Barney's a monster: he is. He's not a lovable kook, he's an emotionally paralyzed villain.
You can argue that HIMYM has shown a softer side to Barney — it sure has. But those are the episodes of empathy and authenticity. When stood up against ones like these, they pale in comparison. The Dr. Horrible/Harold and Kumar version of Barney is a lot more vivid than the Smurfs version.
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On the other side of the episode, we have Marshall and Lily knee deep in an argument about, of all the dull things, Lily not being around enough due to her new job working for Dale Cooper. I mean, the Captain. While that ordeal plays out exactly as predictably and boringly as you might expect, Marshall and Ted delve into their latest television addiction: a ferocious Downton Abbey parody riddled with croquet matches and chimneysweeps. The climax of the story centers on Marshall's spiteful spoiler of the latest episode for Lily as a jab at her for not spending enough time with him. But that all works out effortlessly in the end, and Ted does a British accent and says "Postlethwait." So, win some lose some.
All in all, How I Met Your Mother is stuck somewhere between soap opera and Saturday morning cartoon. Yes, it can inch in a few sweet moments now and again, and a few good laughs here and there. But if it ever really wants to land a good plenty of either, it had better decide what it wants to be and stick to it.
Follow Michael Arbeiter on Twitter @MichaelArbeiter
[Photo Credit: Carin Baer/CBS]
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Despite ostensibly having had access to the media over the past four years, Olympic skier Lindsey Vonn has decided that it might not be too bad of an idea to strike up a romance with one Tiger Woods. Yes, that Tiger Woods. The one with the cheating and the hookers and the car crash. She's dating him now. Voluntarily. So, Mazel tov!
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Vonn took to her Facebook page on Monday, posting confirmation of her new relationship with the world-renowned golfer. "I guess it wasn't a well-kept secret but yes, I am dating Tiger Woods," she says, in a comment attached to the above picture of the duo. The Olympian continues, "Our relationship evolved from a friendship into something more over these past few months and it has made me very happy. I don't plan on addressing this further as I would like to keep that part of my life between us, my family and close friends. Thank you for understanding and your continued support! xo LV"
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It seems that Vonn has adoped what we in the industry call the Foster: demanding privacy for your personal affairs while simultaneously discussing them in a highly spotlit public forum. It always works like a charm.
Follow Michael Arbeiter on Twitter @MichaelArbeter
[Photo Credit: Facebook]
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Living in between the Awards Season heavy hitters of the winter and the high-concept blockbusters of the summer are the festival releases: South by Southwest's roster of small pictures with big substance. With the Austin-based film fest coming to a close this weekend, buffs are now privy to a wave of titles promising the utmost quality.
On Saturday, SXSW announced its league of winners, with Destin Cretton's drama Short Term 12 nabbing the top victory for narrative feature films. The movie, adapted by Crettin from his own short project, centers on star Brie Larson's foster care facilitator as she struggles with the chaos evolving from her lifestyle.
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In the realm of documentary, the big win went to The Short Game, a film highlighting the talents and experiences of pre-adolescent competitive golfers. Check out the full list of SXSW winners below.
Narrative Feature CompetitionSHORT TERM 12
Documentary Feature CompetitionTHE SHORT GAME
24 Beats Per SecondA BAND CALLED DEATH
VisionsMAIDENTRIP
Narrative SpotlightZERO CHARISMA
Documentary SpotlightAN UNREAL DREAM: THE MICHAEL MORTON STORY
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MidnightersCHEAP THRILLS
SXGlobalTHE PUNK SYNDROME
Festival FavoritesTHE CRASH REEL
Excellence in Poster DesignKISS OF THE DAMNED
Excellence in Title DesignCHASING SHAKESPEARE
Follow Michael Arbeiter on Twitter @MichaelArbeiter
[Photo Credit: Short Term Film]
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Sometimes they descend from the ceiling, sometimes they seep up through the floorboards like vapor, sometimes they're just sitting on the couch of some shitty restaurant with a buzz on waiting to cackle and harangue you. Yes, I'm talking about ghosts. Last night's episode of Real Ghostbusters of Cross Stream Station was haunted. It was like Turn of the Screw and The Woman in Black all rolled into one. It was like Ghost except there was no pottery, just the frail broken egos of our heroines and the returning favorites that producers threw in there so that we could get a chuckle.
Last night we got to visit with Kevin Lee, Lisa's old party planner that launched a million "chi chi chi chi chi" GIFs; Dana Wilkie, a sad soul that is stuck on this side of the great beyond because she refuses to let go of her $25,000 sunglasses; and Adrienne the former queen of the Maloofs, who was dismembered by her own people, a race of mole people that live below the mountain. They were all back and whistling on the wind, causing candles to flicker, Ouija boards to hover, and Nicolas Sparks to think up stupid endings to his movies that have to do with the ghosts of ex-wives planning a bachelorette party for some skank who is going to marry the ghost's widower.
But before we can get to all them, the ladies were still in Paris. The screen told us it was their "last evening in Paris," which sounds like it should be an indie with Julie Delpy, an old dirty flick with Marlon Brando where he uses butter as lube for anal sex, or a sequel to one of the Sisters Richard's neices more popular adult videos. But no, it is finally the end to their boring trip to the City of Lights. Even for us it feels like that last day of vacation where you had a lot of fun but you are just exhausted and you can't wait to be back in your bed and get back to your routine and finally have someone to just speak English to at the cafe when you order your coffee in the morning. It's like a pre-jet lag kinda feeling.
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Nothing much happened other than Yolanda Bananas Foster gave Brandi a pair of jade green gladiator stilettos that look amazing on her but won't look good with one single outfit in the entirety of the universe. Seriously, what do you wear those with? Yolanda bought them for Brandi because she felt bad that she didn't have anyone to be romantic with in Paris. After all Lisa could think of Ken, Kyle could think of Mauricio, Yolanda could think of David Foster Wallace, and Kim could think of that one pill she thinks she hid in the frame of a painting in her living room that has her name on it when she finally lands back in the States. But Brandi? She has nothing. Only shoes. She only has her material possessions to keep her warm at night, and Yolanda feels sad.
While they were on the boat eating their dinner, the lights suddenly started to flicker and a chill washed through the air. There was a distinct "OOooHHoOOOOoOoooHhhHHHooooo," sound all over the boat and everyone looked around until they saw the specter of Russell Armstrong standing in the corner covered in chains. They were the heavy chains of greed. "Ladies, before this episode is over, you will be visited by three ghosts! This will change how you all look at everything! Behold the ghosts and despair!"
"Well, that was odd," Lisa said and shrugged it off and tucked back into her filet mignon as the Seine bubbled slowly beneath them. But little did Lisa know that she would be greeted by the first ghost, the Ghost of Housewives Past! Yes, it was Kevin Lee, a scarecrow that purchased one of Michael Jackson's old faces. Kevin, as we all know, planned Pandora's wedding last season and, well, he's a card. I love the dynamic that Lisa has with him, where he demands opulence and she pretends like she's the salt of the earth and then finally gives in and lets him serve cocktails with platinum flakes in Swarovski encrusted champagne flutes. Kevin is there to plan Lisa and Ken's housewarming party which will also be their vow renewal ceremony, a rite of passage that only happens on Bravo reality shows.
Lisa doesn't want to go through with this charade or renewing her vows, but Ken and Kevin think it is romantic so she goes along with it. This ghost convinces her that what she said before doesn't matter, that the ceremonies held long ago, in seasons past, don't matter. What matters is the present. Lisa learns from this ghost to stop living in the past, stop holding onto her grudges and petty resentments, and move towards a blissful state of grace and acceptance – with antique linens and $250 a plate hors d'oevres.
We now interrupt this retelling of A Christmas Carol to present the newest episode of At Home with Yolanda Bananas Foster. On this week's episode, Yolanda goes to a photo shoot with her husband, David Foster Wallace for an "Asian magazine." She gets all dolled up and finds a dress and gets her makeup done because David only has an hour between playing piano for Barbra Steisand and recording with Rod Stewart and Andrea Bocelli (who is a man, baby), so he can only spare an hour for a photo shoot. Yolanda wears a dress with nude illusion down the front of it so it looks like her boobs and cooter are hanging out and David Foster Wallace pretends he hates it but he really loves it. He loves it when they lie down on a carpeted staircase and pose longingly and it is such a sad and awful thing that it looks like something that would be on the cover of one of those plastic surgery magazines in your dermatologist's office that you are scared of but also want to look in so you can try to figure out just who the hell makes such awful tacky horrible rich people nonsense. And then David is off once again, and Yolanda is there to clean everything up and take her Asian modeling magazine back home to work out 17 times.
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We now interrupt this episode of At Home with Yolanda Bananas Foster to show you a previous unaired episode of Million Dollar Listing: Los Angeles. On this episode, a woman named Fetch (who isn't going to happen) is tasked with selling her mother-in-law's gigantic $23 million dollar estate. The MIL (in The Knot message board parlance) is one of those people who spent $7 million on fully grown trees so that she wouldn't have to look at little saplings, she wanted a huge arbor in her back yard and she would pay for it full grown. Anyway Fetch has her friend's husband, who is an actual broker not some bored housewife who thinks she can sell a house or three, over and they tour the house and decide how much they are going to sell it for. Fetch keeps calling him Maurice even though his name is Mauricio. Or is it? Do Kim and Fetch know something the rest of us don't? And how will these two get along with the other homosexuals that are on this show? Find out next time!
Now we're back to our regularly scheduled program and the Widow Armstrong is going to have lunch with a mysterious friend! She's going through a bad break up, and we see her brunette head over the back of the couch. Who could it be? Who ever could it ever be? It is Dana Wilkie, the Ghost of Housewives Present and the break up that she is trying to work through is her breakup with life. Dana was so devastated that she wasn't cast as a full-time member on the show that she drowned in a shallow puddle of her own tears. That is why her man left her and her Lamborghini (I mean, who really has one of those?!) is gone and no one has heard from her in ages. It's because Dana (aka Pam) is dead.
Poor Dana doesn't even know it. Taylor shows up to lunch and Dana is already three mojitos in to her afternoon, because Dana has not been living since 2004 so she has no idea that people have stopped drinking mojitos. Dana is essentially the girl who stayed too long at the party. We all have a friend like her. She was having such a good time in her 20s drinking all the trendy drinks and carrying around her white (vomit) Birkin and sleeping with every guy who had a fancy sounding job that she never bothered to change. She never bothered to grow up. "I drink a lot and I'm OK with it. I [dirty word for whore around] a lot and I'm OK with it!" she slurs, defending her choices, not to the Widow Armstrong and the world, but to herself, taking another swig hoping that the burning in her throat will set the emptiness inside her on fire and singe it out of her, filling her back up again.
Oh Dana, so sad talking about "everyone in our group" as if she is still a Real Housewife. Oh Dana, so sad talking about her hatred of Brandi, who stole her slot on the show by being authentic and real and rude and wonderfully awful. Oh Dana, so sad and deluded thinking that she still has a chance, if she drinks enough and smokes enough and croaks her throaty laugh enough it will bring her back to life. She tries to keep it light and fun, she tries to be the life of the party, but then it hits her like a pall, it comes over her like a stench of darkness and she leans forward and her brown casts a shadow over her face and suddenly she is like a Sybill speaking the truth to the Widow Armstrong, "Listen to me, dearie, and listen closely. They will not help you. All these women do is love themselves. I'm not sure if they have any room in their love for themselves to love you." She picked up the giant crystal lighter from the coffee table and tremulously lit another cigarette and as she inhaled it's as if she imploded into herself, gone as quickly as she appeared, leaving behind just a whisp where she once sat.
The Widow Armstrong learned her lesson immediately. She had become Dana, she was drinking too much and relying too much on this show for her identity. If she were ever cut from the cast, she would be dead too. Maybe it was time to mend her relationships. At Kyle's party she let the lesson that Dana taught her (and, really, is Dana in any position to be teaching anyone lessons?) take hold, and she apologized to Yolanda Bananas Foster for treating her and her husband shabbily. She explained she was put off because her good friend had been married to David Foster Wallace. The funny thing about Bananas was that she didn't say thank you and move on — well, she did, but first she had to teach the Widow Armstrong a lesson about how awful she had been. Oh, Bananas, don't you know it's best not to change things?
We're getting ahead of ourselves. It is time to talk about the party for the opening of Kyle Richard's Sleeveless Shirt Emporium and Crab Shack. Yes, it's her store of glittery frocks that is now open to the public somewhere in one of the finer shopping districts in the L.A. suburbs. It is actually called Kyle by Alene Too and it is right between Amanda by Johnny Five and and Dress Barn. Kyle is there presiding over the store in one of its signature gowns which is a mix of a floral pattern, draping, a peplum, sequins, gold plating, and some sort of layering that was totally lost on me. It was made out of 17 rag dolls boiled down in a cauldron.
All the ladies "from our group" were there and they were all wondering where the last one was. Where could she be, this thing that has been so long absent from all their lives? Finally, she arrived — shining like a bone jutting out of carrion, it was Adrienne former Queen of the Maloofs. She was there looking stunned and lost, telling everyone how pretty they looked and ignoring everything that was wrong, ignoring the sham that her marriage had become, the travesty that being open for the cameras would cause. She was the Ghost of Housewives Future and she looked like a blank gravestone on which every other Housewife saw her name. This is the destruction that will come for all of you if you hang around too long: lesson be learned!
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Speaking of lessons, Kim Richards is finally learning a thing or two about her sobriety. Paris (the city, not her niece) taught her that not everyone is going to trust her, that the people in her life still have that fear of what is behind the door when she doesn't answer. After a passive aggressive call from Kyle to make sure she's going to be on time to the store opening (Kim's brilliant response, "Haven't I been on time all year? Aren't you the one who is late now Hardy-Tardy?"), the Sisters Richards go aside for a little tete-a-tete. We see Kim's tiny heart-shaped tattoo on her right shoulder blinking at us like it's an eye that sees both the past, present, and future. It's the mark left on her when she was kissed by her demons.
Kyle asks Kim why she's been behaving so oddly, and Kim says that she got home from Paris and slept for two days, the darkness coming over her once again and she didn't know to get out of bed and open the blinds. Then she looked at her medicine. "What I thought was my water pill looked a little bit different. So I went and put in my contacts and really looked at it and it was a slightly different color and was fatter than usual. That's when I realized it was that pill I was taking last year that caused me to be so out of it. I was taking it again by mistake." Yes, that is how Kim explains it. I'm sorry, but that sounds like some crazy addict excuse to me. Does she not keep her pills in their own separate bottles? Does she just have a Ziplock in her medicine cabinet full of tablets and she just pulls a few out based on what matches her outfit and swallows them? Please.
But Kyle buys it. "It makes a lot of sense," she says, snapping back into that old role of the enabler, of letting herself be swayed by Kim's half-truths. But maybe Kim is telling the truth, maybe it's time that we all trusted her a little bit more. At least Kim learned from Lisa's cracks in Paris that maybe she doesn't deserve to be given carte blanche to do what she wants. "I don't deserve all the trust right now," she says, and she's right. She hasn't been very clear with everyone about what happened or what is going on, she just puts on her brave face to the public while she's holding on tightly to her sobriety. It's not as easy as she makes it look, as she wants everyone to think it is.
Finally she tells Kyle what really happened. "Seven months ago I was lying on a bed and I knew I was going to die, and I didn't want to die but there was nothing I could do to stop it. " I had a vision of Kim lying in her bed in just a soiled T-shirt, the covers clumped around her and the slats from the afternoon sun striking against her face. It was sad. It was so, so sad. Kyle rebutts with the old, "Every time the phone rang I thought they were going to tell me my sister was dead," as she can only see Kim's pain through the lens of her own suffering. This wasn't about Kim's death, it was about Kyle's grief. Kim says she can't promise she'll be sober forever, but she's trying. She's trying her damn best and Kyle accepts that and offers her help. Kim knows that when Kyle says to "call her," that it won't help, it will never help, but sometimes even the acknowledgement of support is as good as support itself.
Kim leaves the party and gets into her limo, which she sort of feels is a waste now that she can always drive herself home from a party. Well, at least most of the time. Oh, how she used to love a party. Kim thinks of all the times she had, doing blow in bathrooms at clubs and sipping wine at gatherings large and small. Sure, she remembers the bum times too, crawling on the floor hoping that there was a little bit of powder in the grout she could rub on her gums, but even those don't seem so bad from far away. She remembers that she used to say yes to everything. That was Kim. Yes, she wants to go out. Yes, she wants to meet guys. Yes, she wants another drink and to go home with a stranger and maybe take a pill if he offers it to her. Yes, she always used to say. Now it's the opposite. She rolls down the window and looks out at the night, dotted with establishments with their lights on: convenience stores that sell bottles of beer, restaurants with their wine lists as long as her arm, and bars, oh the smelly comfort of a bar where she could have whatever she wanted as long as she wanted and just teeter back to that limo and collapse back on her bed until the sun streaked through the blinds in lines across her face. No, she thought to her self. No, no, no, no, no. That's what she's trained herself to say forever, even when it's hard. No, she says. She has to say. No.
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
[Photo Credit: Bravo]
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Shaken to life by a loving sunbeam this morning, I awoke with the inclination that today would be different. Today, I would stumble upon that intangible thing I have so desperately been looking all these years. A tall order, of course — perhaps one I was far too ready to accept. One that I should have known would prove to be, just like each and every one of my dreams, an impossibility. Early on in the workday, I grabbed hold of what just might have been the key to this new wave — a piece of monumental, stirring, transcendental poetry penned by the unlikeliest of sources: Shia LaBeouf. A dark, albeit life-affirming adage written by the 26-year-old actor in an effort to illustrate to Alec Baldwin, and the world, the true definition of manhood.
A poem that nearly changed my life.
A poem that took me on a journey through and beyond the very fabrics of the reality we've come to accept as our universe.
A poem that, as I now know, was plagiarized.
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Let's back up a bit. It was announced on Wednesday that LaBeouf would be leaving the cast of the Broadway play Orphan just over a month prior to its April debut, in which he was set to star opposite Baldwin and actor Tom Sturridge (it was announced Thursday that LaBeouf has been replaced by actor Ben Foster). E! reported the standard "creative differences" spiel via LaBeouf's rep, leaving us to surmise that it might have been any one of the usual issues — money, scheduling, the actor's sudden realization that there weren't actually any alien robots in this play — that led to his departure.
But following the revelation, we got wind of a new amendment to the story, rooting LaBeouf's choice to leave in a mysterious feud upheld with costar Baldwin. LaBeouf braved the oceans of Twitter to post the following pair of emails. First LaBeouf tweeted a reasonably coherent message from Baldwin to LaBeouf, but then he revealed the real the coup de grâce: LaBeouf's initial apology to Baldwin, a poetric triumph destined to launch any daring reader upon a mind-boggling adventure to new levels of conscious thought. LaBeouf writes:
"Apology"
My dad was a drug dealer. He was a shit human. What I know of men Alec is-A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job.A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers.A man owns up. That's why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he is, and whether he likes them or not.Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt.He does not rely on rationalizations or explanations. He doesn't winnow, winnow, winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off without an explanation.A man knows his tools and how to use them — just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud.A man does not know everything. He doesn't try. He likes what other men know.A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to.He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it's just to put an end to the bickering.Alec, I'm sorry for my part of a dis-agreeable situation.Shia
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Following my initial read-through of the bonkers diatribe, I reflected upon my very state of being. I have experienced a wide variety of emotions in my 24 years as a human (and brief six-month stint as a cutlery vendor). I've known sorrows so deep they'd rival the Mariana Trench, joys so high as to call envy from the Himalayan Vulture. But a new wave of feelings overtook me upon reading LaBeouf's email. I couldn't just sit on this spiritual awakening, but I knew that the world would better deserve thoughts far and beyond that of which I was capable. So, to Gchat I ventured.
I contacted every academic I know — literary analysts, editors, English teachers, college professors, playwrights, novelists, publishers, screenwriters. I promised each a venue to showcase his or her penchant for the written word: an article delving into the poetic merit and psycholoanalytical substance of LaBeouf's writing. I staked my reputation on this post. It was going to be my big break.
But then, midway through my Internet forays, Jezebel broke the news that LaBeouf had not written the poem himself. He plagiarized it from a 2009 Esquire essay by Tom Chiarella.
And to be honest, we should have known. It's not like there weren't clues. For instance, the stolen portion of the email — beginning with the second line, "A man is as good as his job," and ending with "just to put an end to the bickering" — is perfectly sound in terms of grammar and punctuation, and yet it is sandwiched between introductory and conclusive sentences that would earn a third grade student a stern, red-inked "See Me!" The use of words like "avocation" seems far from the reach of the Transformers star. The mention of Mark McGwire feels particularly anachronistic.
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So yes, we should have known. We just wanted to believe. I wanted to believe. I just wanted to feel like the universe was not confined to the stagnant observations in which I've been festering for more than two decades. I wanted to create something to make others feel the way LaBeouf had made me feel, channeling the talented cohorts I had acquired over the years to result in something wholly invaluable. I wanted this to mean something.
But instead, we're left with the same murky, dilapidated, old reality — one filled with lying actors and average Esquire poems that seem entirely less inspiring when you know that an actual writer wrote them. Life, once again, is meaningless.
And while we're really no worse off than we were yesterday, we've been teased with the perilous idea of false hope. We're thrown back into the drawer of knives that is our day-to-day. We're in pain, we're restless, we're alone.
And it's all because of Shia LaBeouf. As we all imagined it someday would be.
Follow Michael Arbeiter on Twitter @MichaelArbeiter.
[Photo Credit: Larry Busacca/Getty Images]
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Even as our society makes elemental progress in its views on sexual orientation, there remains an unfortunate anchor attached to America's standpoint on bisexuality. Somehow deemed less "legitimate" than its polar counterparts, bisexuality earns jabs, eye rolls, and ill regard throughout pop culture. But acclaimed music producer/former Columbia Records president Clive Davis — a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer whose 60-odd years in the business helped to launch the careers of Janis Joplin, Pink Floyd, Billy Joel, and many others — takes a more open-minded perspective in his newly published memoir,The Soundtrack of My Life. In the book, an 80-year-old Davis identifies himself as bisexual, calling the often slandered denomination "misunderstood."
"After my second marriage failed, I met a man who was also grounded in music," Davis says in his book. "Having only had loving relationships and sexual intimacy with women, I opened myself up to the possibility that I could have that with a male, and found that I could ... but I never stopped being attracted to women."
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Davis speaks on the limiting attitude assocated with the orientation: "Bisexuality is misunderstood; the adage is that you're either straight or gay or lying, but that's not my experience. To call me anything other than bisexual would be inaccurate."
The producer also took to Katie Couric's talk show Katie on Tuesday morning to affirm his revelation. "You don’t have to be only one thing or another," he said. "For me, it’s the person." Davis told Couric that he is presently in a monogamous relationship, but did not specify with whom.
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The public's mindset on bisexuality is in need of a good deal of repair, but confident and earnest ownership like Davis' is exactly the sort of thing that will foster a healthier, more objective, and open outlook. "Publicly acceptable" scapegoats are often used to cushion the blow of change for those afraid of new ideas. Whereas many might feel comfortable taking swings at bisexuality, Davis' words need to be heard: many people are neither wholly straight nor gay. To deny these individuals the same reverence we would those identifying as one of the two ends of the same spectrum is simple intolerance, no matter how many people, movies, and TV shows are also joking about it.
Follow Michael Arbeiter on Twitter @MichaelArbeiter.
[Photo Credit: Dan Hallman/Invision/AP]
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